I Wish We Never Got So Close

I sometimes wonder—what if we never met?

Or better—what if we could go back to that moment and unmeet?

We weren’t perfect, and we weren’t even trying to be. It started with a message, a smile, maybe a shared laugh at something no one else found funny. And then, gradually, we began to exist in each other’s days—little by little, like a song that grows on you before you even realize it’s your favorite.

You knew my quirks, my silences, the way I say “I’m fine” when I’m not. I knew how your mood changed with the sky, how your voice softened when you spoke about the past, and how you always needed closure, even from things that didn’t have doors.

We weren’t lovers. Not officially. But we also weren’t just friends. We existed somewhere in between—awkward, undefined, and yet comfortable. Maybe that’s where we messed up. We never defined what we were, so we couldn’t decide when it ended.

And now, here we are.

Two people who used to talk daily but now scroll past each other’s stories like they never mattered. Two people who once shared fears and dreams but now pretend that nothing ever happened. Isn’t it strange how you can go from being someone’s daily habit to being just another notification they swipe away?

Sometimes I think—what if we could start over, from zero?

Would I still find comfort in you?

Would you still laugh at my weird jokes?

But reality hits hard. We can’t unknow what we know. We can’t erase the conversations, the eye contacts that lasted longer than they should’ve, the unsent messages that still sit in drafts.

So no, maybe we can’t be strangers again.

But God, I wish we could.

Because being strangers means no expectations, no shared past, no weight of what-ifs.

Being strangers again would mean I wouldn’t have to pretend I’m okay when I see you laughing with someone else.

It would mean I wouldn’t have to lie to myself that I don’t care anymore.

I still think of you sometimes. Not out of longing, but out of habit.

Not because I want you back, but because I want back the version of myself who still believed in us.

But some stories aren’t meant to be rewritten.

They’re just meant to be remembered… quietly.

And maybe—just maybe—some people are better off staying as strangers.

Even if they once meant everything.